


Legends Never Die

by logandelos



Category: Marvel, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Character Study, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-06-04 16:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15151448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logandelos/pseuds/logandelos
Summary: Legends Never Die is an exploration of Billy Russo, from his point of view, both before the events of Season 1 and after. It will cover his acceptance of the moniker Jigsaw, his complicated feelings for one Frank Castle and finally, his processing of the trauma that has made him the man he is. Some might say his scars are nothing, but they haven’t a clue.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers for s2... But what the fuck? 
> 
> Catch me on my personal tumblr: logandelos  
> My writing tumblr: everwrites  
> And my rambly twitter: bigdickdelos

The more time Billy Russo spent looking at his reflection, the less he recognised his own face. Pallid skin held together by pink scars that shone in any light and he no longer had the hair to hide behind. Sheared down to only a few inches of brown fuzz, its absence displayed all that he was. Scarred skin and lifeless eyes, a fitting look for a man as allegedly monstrous as he.

“Get your shit together.” He hissed at himself, running a hand across his face. He could feel his vision swimming again, one hand leaning down to grip at the basin tightly as he attempted to stay in the present.

Long fingers prodded at the skin, not his for it felt too foreign, hoping for something to give and tell him that it was all a bad dream. But, relief never came. Only pain, or worse, numbness. The stubble that had started to appear on his jaw the only indication that it might be his face, but he found himself still doubting it. He’d lost all feeling in parts, his left temple for instance was completely devoid of feeling. It was unsurprising given the hours of surgery he’d been subjected to.

When Frank had promised that his fate would be worse than death, he hadn’t been bullshitting. _Good for him._ Oddly, Billy was proud of Frank for keeping his word. If the roles had been reversed, had Billy been awarded the upper hand, his friend would be dead. In the ground with his family where he belonged. But, Frank was nothing if not stubborn. An immovable force if ever he’d met one.

His face, though not mangled nearly as badly as many had expected nor as the doctors had predicted, was far from what he’d come to wield as a weapon. Charm was no longer in his arsenal, a smile and wink unlikely to get him out of anything. Instead, he’d have to rely on the only other thing he knew. Violence. He pulled his shirt over his head, glaring at his reflection as it came back into view.

A man who’d spent years dodging his inner ugliness was now forced to face it every day. Every reflection giving him a new angle to despise, a new flaw to unpack and unwillingly accept. His cheekbones seemed even more angular, life as a patient seeming to have had a particularly dire effect on his frame. If he’d been lean before, now he was just bony. Where once warm eyes had worked their magic on many an attractive figure, now they were cold and unyielding. The scars seemed only another layer to the fucked-up configuration of his new life. All he was missing were some bolts on his neck. Wouldn’t that be a sight to see? Billy the Beaut turned Frankenstein’s Monster.

                                                            

* * *

 

_Billy had given up all hope of finishing his paperback that night, instead letting it rest face down on his chest as he looked up at the tent’s ceiling. Sleep never came easy when he was on tour, reading seemed to be the only thing that calmed him down and even that was becoming a losing battle. He’d always had an overactive mind and introducing the stress of combat hadn’t helped._

_“Thought you’d finished that already.” Frank entered his peripheral vision as he sank into the cot beside him, water droplets falling from his hair. He’d disappeared twenty minutes earlier, groaning about how he looked like shit. Billy’s jab about how he smelt even worse had gotten him a gentle tap upside the head and a laugh as Frank passed by._

_Billy hadn’t ever been interested in the masculine bullshit that often seemed to be associated with the military. All the talk of brotherhood seemed like nonsense to him, crap that promised something no one could deliver in this setting. For the most part, he’d assumed correctly. He didn’t gel well with the others, something about being too smart-mouthed rubbing them the wrong way. Many murmurings of him being little more than a pretty face certainly not endearing them to him._

_Frank Castle was different though. He was quiet, at least quieter than the rest. He also paid no mind to what was said about him, or Billy. He was the type to form his own opinion of a person and for that Billy admired him. Quite enjoyed his company too, which was more than could be said about anyone else in their team._

_“Nah, that was Frankenstein.” Billy tapped the cover with a single finger, shooting a smile in Frank’s direction. “Now I’m onto Misery. Figured the last King book I read didn’t give me enough nightmares.”_

_“Heh. It really gave you the creeps, huh?”_

_“Clowns, man. Fuckin’ hate them.” He propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head. “But, it wasn’t even that so much. I guess anything involving kids gets my back up.”_

_Frank gave him a brief nod in reply, knowing a little too well what Billy meant. They’d been friends for a while now, and while Billy hadn’t gone out to spill his guts it had eventually become a topic of conversation. He had only been able to accept so many jovial pats on the back before he’d snapped. Built like a brick shithouse Castle may have been, but he also wasn’t a bad listener._

_“Y’think good ol’ Stevie would accept some constructive criticism?” He pursed his lips contemplatively, eyes straying to the foot of his cot. “Dearest, Stephen. It was great, but I think you need to reconsider your stance on kiddie sex scenes. Not really my bag.”_

_His words earnt him a hearty chuckle from his right and he grinned, looking at Frank proudly._

_“Pretty sure he reconsidered his stance some time ago, Bill.”_

_“Yeah, well, guess better late than never.” Billy sighed, pushing himself up and retrieving his boots. “Here’s hopin’ Misery is kinder to my fragile constitution.”_

_He could hear the eyeroll when Frank replied, after a snort. “Nothin’ fragile about you, kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”_

                                                        

* * *

 

The last few months had proven that time and time again. Despite what he’d heard over the years, about his looks, about his past, Billy had never been fragile. No more fragile than any other person in his life. Most of them were dead, some at his hand, some worse off. Frank Castle for instance. What kind of life was that? The details were hazy at best most of the time, minor things coming back to him here and there. But, he knew enough.

He shrugged on a jacket, layers upon layers seeming a terrible idea out in the heat, but he needed them. Needed the weight on his shoulders, reminding him that he was here. It was now, not then. He rubbed his face, _not_ a stranger’s face, and looked in the mirror.

William Russo. Bill Russo. Lieutenant. Uncle Billy. _Pretty boy._

All had seemed disingenuous at the time. Like an ill fitted suit, they didn’t stick around. There was a new name. One that had been floating about since news had broken of his new face. He exhaled shakily, rolling his shoulders as he considered his reflection.

Jigsaw.

It would fit better than the rest ever had.

* * *

 

 _“Bill,_ _I don’t know how you drink this shit.” Frank held one mug out, the other nearly to his mouth. “More sugar than fuckin’ coffee.” He took a long sip as he settled beside Billy, legs stretched out under the table. “Your dentist must hate you.”_

_Billy shrugged, taking a generous sip of his drink. He liked his coffee sugary and without cream, always had. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that initially it’d been because he couldn’t stand the taste of coffee as a kid but needed the caffeine._

_“She likes me well enough.” He offered Frank a toothy grin, showing just how little his coffee preferences affected his personal hygiene. “In fact, I’d say she has a sweet spot for me.”_

_Frank scoffed, whether at Billy’s grin or the pun he wasn’t sure, but he offered a small smile anyway. “Doubt there’s a woman alive who hasn’t got a sweet spot for you, Bill.”_

_Part of him soured at that, despite knowing that it was a light-hearted joke. They’d known each other for a year now and while Frank knew a lot about Billy, there were still things that were better kept private for a while longer. He settled for clenching his jaw and exhaling through his nose, taking another sip of his coffee before he fired back. Charm always seemed a reasonable substitute for honesty, at least for Billy. It was easier to joke his way out of a serious conversation than to talk about something that bothered him._

_“Women know a fun time when they see it, Frankie boy.” His grin widened wolfishly, black eyes twinkling as he looked at Frank. “Somethin’ about my eyes. Or my ass.”_

_“Ass? What ass?” Frank raised an eyebrow, casting a look down Billy analytically._

_The look Billy gave him was withering, undercut by a shoulder-shaking laugh as Billy kicked at Frank playfully. “Fuck you, Castle.”_

_“You wish, kid.” Frank retorted, though his tone was playful._

* * *

 

Billy found it funny, albeit in a twisted sense, that he’d lost his one saving grace to the only person he’d ever really trusted. Another word always crawled to the back of his throat at the thought of Frank Castle. A word he didn’t care for, never had. But, it always surfaced anyway. Trying to anchor him to some semblance of who he was before.

But, who had he been before? Before war, before Rawlins, before the carousel. A scrawny kid who’d sooner have expected a slap than a hug. A teenager whose idea of a fun weekend was one that involved being in the same house he’d started the week in. He’d been broken long before he met Frank and the cracks would continue to burst open long after Frank was dead.

And Frank would die, soon, and at Billy’s hand. Or knife. Or gun. He really didn’t care at this point. Love, or whatever the fuck he’d had for Frank was, didn’t come into the equation now. If it ever had at all. How was he to know?

He’d not had the luxury of love, or at least the kind of love that they sung about, or the kind that Frank had with Maria. Not growing up, not with the people he fell into bed with. But he had hate, capable of making him see red. And that was worth fighting for, that was worth killing for. The rest of it was just white noise he sought to be rid of for good.

Billy Russo hadn’t ever had anyone but himself. He’d always been his top priority and it was a relief to no longer be pretending otherwise. They’d all call him a monster, but really, weren’t they the monsters for acting as if they wouldn’t do the same? If they’d been in his position, been in his shoes, wouldn’t they be the ones scarred and seeking vengeance?


	2. Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A directionless teenager finds himself considering a new opportunity, a man with nothing left to lose moves towards a new, violent future and two acquaintances are closer to becoming friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments + kudos, it means the world! I hope the wait will have been worth it as this chapter is a wee bit longer. Please enjoy :)

_Billy’s long fingers cradle a cigarette like a dame in an old film – a pretty picture even when smoke curls around his features. Seventeen and still growing into said features, though with a sharp jaw and undereye bags, many struggle to pinpoint just how old he is. His lanky frame doesn’t help, legs stretched out before him as he leans back against a brick storefront. He’s taller than most in the home, though that wouldn’t be hard. Makes for an easier existence than before his growth spurt, no one eager to look at him twice for fear he’ll make quick work of them._

_“That’s a terrible habit.”_

_“Could be doin’ worse.” He shrugged in reply, dark eyes running over the intruder apathetically._

_A man nearing forty, at least, stockier than him and a few inches shorter. The dark green of his singlet and cargos give him away – though Billy wouldn’t have needed that to figure it out. The set of his shoulders, the way steely eyes run over him in a way so different from the predatory gazes he’s used to. Or, later he’ll learn, predatory in a different way. A way that besieges the military as a whole – preying on a seemingly lost cause, drawing him in with the allure of hero status._

_They’ll learn quickly though that patriotism and ‘brotherhood’ is lost on him – what he wants is a decent meal, somewhere to attempt sleep and an escape from the places he’s been forced to call home. He’s not looking for recognition, not then. Even later he will realise that he’d also, in part, been looking for somewhere to die that wasn’t a gutter. Anything to be better than Carla Russo, even if it meant feigning an interest in protecting ‘his’ country._

_“What’re you doin’ with your life, son?”_

_He had to admire the man’s persistence, though annoyance at not being left alone certainly trickled into his posture. Billy lowered the smoke and exhaled slowly, lips pulling up in a shit-eating grin. “Makin’ a nuisance of myself. Why, **pops**?” He sneered down at the man as he stands before him, “Worry I’m burdening society? Or taking your hard-earned cash and flushing it down the crapper?” _

_The man’s face remained stoic, though his eyes crinkled slightly as he took in Billy’s form, unaffected by the condescending lilt to his tone._

_“Tall, strong lookin’ kid like you, figured you might have somethin’ lined up.” It’s then that the stranger smiled, “Though, the backtalk could be taken down a few notches.”_

_It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been told as much, nor would it be the last. He thought little of it but pushed up and away from the wall anyway. “Not really looking for life advice, old man.” Billy huffed, “Now, if you don’t mind…” He stepped around the man and went to walk away, only to feel an iron grip on his elbow._

_“Not offerin’ life advice. I’m giving you an opportunity.” Paper was thrust into his hand roughly, “Think about it. You might find yourself glad that I bothered you today.” With that he stalked away, leaving Billy to watch on in confusion before dropping his smoke to the sidewalk._

_He looked down at the flyer in his hand, bit down on his bottom lip and squished the cigarette butt beneath his sneaker. Smoke left his nostrils as Uncle Sam pointed up at him, the flyer a shitty handmade job but it did the trick. A decision is made in that moment and on his birthday the very next month he enlists._

* * *

 

He’d been free for a month, if one could define the disarray of his new life as free. Anything had to be better than being chained to a hospital bed, the stench of dried blood persistent and guards keeping watch. Playing dumb would only have worked for so long after all and then where would he be? On trial? Dead at the hands of _someone_ who saw the opportunity and took it? Neither seemed desirable. So, a shitty apartment hidden away from the greater population, away from the people who sought to put him away or in the ground. An empty duffel begging to be filled with all the guns he could lay his hands on. A mask that covered identifiable marks, scars that’d give him away. All were a tolerable alternative.  

The mask certainly wasn’t anything new. Billy had worn a mask for most of his life – when the only way to survive was to keep his head down and shut up, at least for the most part. A mask comprised of attractive features and unwavering charm, one that had only fallen when scarred. It had been far superior to the one he wore now, a plastic dollar store mask that looked vaguely like a glam rock singer. It served its purpose, so he couldn’t complain. 

Much.

The snivelling store owner hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction as Billy waltzed in, shifting the mask over shorn hair to cover his face. He didn’t need confirmed sightings, not yet. It’s only when he stopped at the counter and cleared his throat that the man looked up, eyes widening as they took in the height and mask. He hadn’t even raised the gun yet and the man already looked ready to piss himself. That was a good sign.  

“Fill it with the good shit.” He set the bag on the counter before him, head cocking to the side as he pointed the gun in the man’s general direction. “Make it snappy.”

The guy might as well have tripped over his feet as he flitted around, arms overflowing as he sought to fill the bag as quickly as possible. With each round, his eyes rested on Billy nervously, as if staring _through_ the mask. His scars were concealed beneath the thin plastic, no chance he’d be identified if he kept it quick and bloodless. The latter part was a test to his patience, but he’d manage. He had to.

Billy watched as the weaselly man stopped in his tracks, grey eyes flitting back to meet his.

“Move!” His voice came out gravelly, always seemed to nowadays. There was no charm to be found in his words – not anymore. He was blunt, unrelenting in his desire to have others begging on their knees for mercy that would never come. “I ain’t got all day.”

* * *

 

_Carla Russo wrote her son twice while he was in the service. He didn’t so much as open the first letter, noting that the envelope had William written in cramped font on the front. Billy threw it in the trash where it belonged, dumping the rest of his energy drink out on top of it. He’d never know what the contents of it were and he wasn’t sure he cared. She’d decided a long time ago what their relationship was, he had the right to maintain that ambivalence._

_Time wore on, he settled into his new life and his role in the military. He talked back a lot, leading to more than a few arguments and lectures on his attitude. It sunk in, eventually. But, he still tested the boundaries when he knew he could get away with it, poked fun of men he knew were likely to laugh along as opposed to kicking the shit out of him. He wasn’t there to make friends, so he didn’t. He ate and trained with the rest of them, but his time was just that. When it wasn’t required of him to interact with others, he kept to himself, reading up on all the books he’d refused to read in school – finding that his assessment of some were more accurate than others, a few putting him to sleep quicker than any warm glass of milk ever could._

_By the time the second letter had arrived, he was a few tours in and had gained weight – quite the reputation too, infamy serving him well. Billy the Kid wasn’t to be trifled with, stronger than he looked and with one hell of a mouth of him. The latter only grew worse when he met Frank, a need to make the other laugh unshakeable. There was still a lot they didn’t know about each other and Billy had intended on keeping it that way, for the most part._

_The closest thing they ever got to a party was thriving in the tent behind Billy as he stretched his legs out in front of him, eyes settling on the horizon. The air already had a bite to it, but he didn’t care to go back for his jacket. Someone’s missus had sent updates on the latest addition to their growing family, mail always bringing good and bad news a plenty. They rarely had reasons to celebrate, so when given an opportunity it wasn’t taken lightly._

_He’d received news of his own – hours passing, and the envelope remained sealed for most of them. Each time he set it down, he had hoped it’d just disappear. A trick of his overactive imagination, the buzz of those around him receiving mail merely confusing him. But, each time he walked past his cot, there it laid. So, when the party had begun to pick up he’d snatched it up and walked outside._

_This time it wasn’t homemade – official logos in the top corner, full name and address shown through a clear window. His thumb ran over the plastic, the corner of his lip between his teeth. Away from the others, elbows resting on his knees, he tore it open._

_Three words registered numbly as Billy looked at it, over and over and over. Someone was requesting his presence. His mother had been causing trouble to make up for his absence in the States it’d seem. Always good at playing parts – the troubled foster kid, the shit stirring student and whatever he’d crafted of himself now. But, a son, good or otherwise had never entered the equation. His jaw tensed, and he let his head fall back, sniffing. His fingers plucked up the discarded envelope and began making quick work of the paper, if only to keep his hands from balling up into fists._

_The sun was half set when he heard footsteps, his head turning slightly._

_“Wondered where you’d gone.” Frank’s voice carried, even over the noise from the tent, announcing his arrival before he even entered Billy’s line of sight. “Needed some fresh air? Or did you feel like freezing your balls off?”_

_“Bit of both.” Billy looked up at him, smiling sombrely. “The view doesn’t hurt.” His words fell flat and he knew it but couldn’t bring himself to muster anything resembling his usual lilt._

_“S’not bad.” Frank hummed in agreement as he trudged forwards. “Better than whatever the fuck’s goin’ on back there. Matthews seems intent on making a dick of himself.”_

_“Why am I not surprised?” Came the quiet reply as shredded paper fell to the ground by his boots._

_Then Billy felt a hand lay gently on his shoulder as Frank sat beside him, his spine straightening instinctively. The touch should’ve made him jump, or at least wince, as it usually would. But with Frank he never felt on edge, never felt like he had to be uncomfortably aware of what his hands were doing and where his intentions laid. Nothing sinister resided beneath Frank’s easy grin, nor behind his eyes that now focused on Billy’s face._

_The hand fell away as Frank got comfortable, arms resting over his knees. His gaze fell to the paper in Billy’s hand – the envelope discarded by his feet, torn apart strip by strip._

_“You don’t normally get mail.”_

_“No shit.” Billy huffed, the air colouring his breathe white._

_The crease between Frank’s brows deepened, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Billy’s profile. Lips normally pulled up in a smirk were drawn down, bottom lip jutting out almost petulantly – the letter dangling dangerously from between his fingers._

_“You wanna talk about it?”_

_Billy was nearly tempted by the offer, rant after rant about his dear mother bubbling just beneath the surface. But, that talk wasn’t for now, it certainly wasn’t for a man he barely knew in a country that wasn’t his own. So, he shook his head._

_“Hear you got a letter from your kids?” Billy offered, mustering an empty but wide smile. “It include that photo they promised last time?”_

_And with that, the subject was changed. Easily and without hassle. Billy had learned quickly that his life was easier that way._

* * *

 

Boots tread steadily over loose dirt, the duffle in hand heavier than an hour earlier. He should’ve gone straight home, put his feet up or taken inventory and left it at that. But, the newspaper clipping from a month into his hospital stay had weighed on his mind. He needed to be sure.

Three rows in to the right side and seven along. He counted, _thrice_ , before his eyes found it.

_Carla Louise Russo.  
(1953- 2018)_

It was simple – no mention of her only son and no biblical inscription. The only mark she’d left on this world was the man who stood staring at her grave. The mask hanging around his neck, exposing his scarred face and a bag full of the guns that’d solidify his future in hand - he was far from the man she'd seen for the last time months earlier. He found comfort in that thought, his hand coming out to rest on the headstone's top. 

“If you did one good thing, it was bein’ you, Ma. Giving me up, making a goddamn mess of the whole thing. It gave me perspective, purpose.” Billy murmured, tongue running along his bottom lip. “And once I’m finished they won’t make your mistake. They won’t forget me.”

 


	3. Jigsaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy never has been good at this whole feelings thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the continued support of my writing! I've loved writing LND so much and will do my best to give my all to the final two chapters. 
> 
> What's next, you might be wondering? Well, for the last month and a bit (maybe longer) I've been planning a Meet Cute Rustle AU for Beth's (prongsdeer/marvelcapsicle) writing challenge. I'm delighted to announce it will be called Strawberries & Cigarettes! So, please do keep an eye out for future sneak peeks on my tumblr and feel free to send me any questions in the meantime. I treasure every kudos, every comment and every view on my work. It means the world.

Six months after his risky hospital escape and a week into his stay at another dodgy motel downtown, Billy heard his moniker for the first time. Time had passed quickly, his grasp on the world around him slipping as steadily through his fingers as his grasp on this new life, this new identity of his. Venturing out only when it was required, wreaking havoc and retreating immediately, he’d long gotten used to the isolation that came with being a wanted man. He couldn’t tempt fate, not if he wanted to survive. His face was easily identifiable, not for the overt attractiveness it had once displayed but for its marred surface. His name was frequently splashed across the internet and papers alike, not that he checked. _Much_. The blurred photos that accompanied each article weren’t flattering in the slightest, but at this point he didn’t have it in him to care.

The motel owner didn’t so much as look in his direction as he shoved a healthy stack of cash under the glass partition, sunglasses and hooded sweatshirt covering as much of his face as possible. It was pay by the day, _normally_ , but Billy paid in advance. He had the cash to burn, better to invest it in somewhere with a bed and a shower. Even if said bed was a thin, undoubtedly stained mattress and the shower’s water pressure left much to be desired. That and it was hardly the type of customer service he had grown used to – no blatantly flirtatious concierge and no purred _Mr. Russo’s_ to be heard in way of greeting. But, it was a base of operations, even if said operations consisted of laying low and trying to strengthen himself for the foreseeable future.  Nothing more – though plans for more, for after, bubbled beneath the surface.

He’d grown up without a home and didn’t find himself yearning for one now just because his circumstances had worsened again. And even in a worsened state, they weren’t _that_ bad. He wasn’t starving, had showered in the last twenty-four hours and was still breathing. That was a win in his book, something that was become increasingly harder to come by.

Exerting even an ounce of energy was an effort lately, every little excursion proving that even a few hours of activity left an ache in his joints and a near unshakeable headache. The rigid workout regime he’d kept to prior to his hospitalisation had obviously fallen to the wayside, forgotten for more pressing matters. _Like getting his face torn to shreds._ He’d already been lean, but now was just thin. Whatever muscle he’d had wasted away as he lay in the hospital bed, looking like a bloody tampon. The humour in it all was lost on him, unsurprisingly.

With the room paid for, Billy picked up his groceries and retreated, resigning himself to another night hidden away. Dinner was simple, the meat chewy and vegetables frozen. But, it was still more than he could’ve hoped for some twenty years earlier. He flicked through the television as he sat stiffly on the edge of the cheap mattress, plate in one hand – channel surfing like a bored child, his eyes retained nothing of what appeared in front of him _until_.

Familiar brown eyes and stern brows, Dinah Madani stood in front of a podium that had to have been lowered to account for her stature. What she lacked in physical height, she made up for in the stance she took as she looked up into the camera – a chill shooting down Billy’s spine. For someone who’d been on the other side of his trigger, she looked surprisingly healthy. Her hair covered whatever scar his bullet had left behind and her confidence certainly hadn’t been shaken.

He didn’t know whether to be impressed or _incredibly_ pissed off.

* * *

 

_Sex had always been a language Billy spoke well. He was incredibly good at weaving webs consisting of charming smiles and half-purred insinuations. But, the physical was where he particularly excelled. Whether exercising brutality with a knife or falling into bed with someone, his need to have control over any and **every** situation was satiated. _

_Even when he was seemingly submissive in the bedroom, it was because he wanted it that way. After years of not having control, nothing happened now without his say so. And he’d die before he let anyone take his autonomy away from him again._

_With Dinah, sex was enjoyable, and he certainly had his need for autonomy respected. It was about as affectionate as Billy let himself get, kissing and stroking along her skin not because he had to. Because he **wanted** to. He had never really cared for sleeping with the same person multiple times, boredom seizing him easily and ruining whatever desire he had. It didn’t matter if it was the guy across the hall when he’d first left service or some girl he’d met at a bar hours earlier. They all talked too much, about their lives and their hopes for the future, and expected him to do the same. His lack of enthusiasm for pillow talk became abundantly clear **very** quickly and things ended. _

_Billy had never been particularly talkative and in the bedroom wasn’t any different. Which was why Madani was a perfect fit. She was precisely the same, kept her business just that and rarely endeavoured to push for details. At least, early on. It was why Billy found himself continuing their rendezvous where normally he mightn’t’ve._

_“B-illy!” Dinah choked out, fisting the pillow behind her head. His only reply was a smug smirk from her crotch before he lowered his head again._

* * *

 

“Billy Russo is a threat to national security, there is no doubt about it.” She’d been speaking for five minutes, counting ad-breaks. His interest only peaked when he was mentioned unsurprisingly.

Billy would be lying if he said it wasn’t slightly hilarious that the serious press conference was intermittently being spliced with Burger King ads, erectile dysfunction ‘cures’ and the newest reality television offering. The entire coverage of his escape thus far had been a joke, but this really cemented it.

His inability to remain focused for long periods of time, yet another side effect to Frank’s attack on him months earlier, struck again. The adverts had been over for a while and he hadn’t noticed, staring off into the distance with a near gormless look on his face when he heard his name yet again.

He blinked twice and focused back on the television, discarding his empty plate, cutlery and all, beside him. He leaned forward on his forearms and tilted his head as Dinah fielded questions from the press left and right _until_.

 “What about Frank Castle?”

Billy’s elbows rested on his thighs and his eyes widened as he stared at the television. _Yeah, what about Frank? C’mon, Dinah. Don’t hold back now._

“Frank Castle was cleared of any wrongdoing.” Dinah explained calmly, “I can understand the concerns many might have, but Homeland Security will ensure the continued vigilance regarding terrorist activity in New York.”

“How are we expected to feel at ease when _Jigsaw_ is still at large?”

Dinah’s perplexed expression at the moniker nearly mirrored Billy’s, his brows pulled low over his eyes as he tried to piece together who that might be.

Then, he realised. A newspaper a week earlier, a grainy picture of what many claimed correctly to be his face, with that very name plastered atop it. **‘The Punisher nowhere to be seen as Jigsaw sightings continue’**. The two names in the same sentence produced a sour taste in Billy’s mouth, seeming so far removed from the days in which it was Frank and Bill against the world.

A part of him wondered, still wonders, cynically if it ever _was_ the two of them against anyone. Whether they had ever been on the same side, even before Rawlins had come ringing with his offer, before carousel music and a dead family. Before Frank was The Punisher, exactor of violent justice and Billy was Jigsaw, a traitor and murderer. Did the same side mean the same thing as two sides of the same coin? Had they ever been anything but two alike men on very different paths?

His lips parted as his hand came to rub at his chin, effort getting him nothing – feeling gone there as it was in so many other parts of his face. He could see Dinah turning to question a co-worker, undoubtedly about this new nickname of his. It was with a flash of smug pride, there and then gone, that he saw her face fall.

“It is with the upmost confidence that I assure the public, press and fellow New Yorkers that Mr. Russo will be brought into custody. Moniker and scars aside, he is little more than a murderer and will be treated as such. _Jigsaw_ mightn’t scare Homeland Security, but I encourage anyone with potential sightings to keep their distance. He’s considered extremely dangerous and will likely be armed.”

Jigsaw. His gaze was drawn to the mirror hung above a dresser, tracking over his face with nowhere near the amount of disdain as they had following the hospital. _Jigsaw_ fit. And if they wanted Jigsaw, he’d give them Jigsaw. In all his brutal glory.

* * *

 

_It was later with his back against the headboard that he reached for his phone, pressing his thumb against the home button and exhaling softly as notifications poured in. Scrolling through headlines, various messages about upcoming meetings and the like occupied him while Dinah busied herself in the bathroom. He always found himself uncharacteristically pliant after sex, legs stretched out and shoulders relaxed. He was at his least rabid after any sort of physical activity and it was relieving and unnerving all at once. Normally so on alert, around her his defences were lowered. It wasn’t out of some misguided belief that they were anything, but a knowledge that for now Dinah might think they were. Or at least, could be._

_“Anything interesting?” Dinah raised an eyebrow questioningly as she walked back out, face freshly washed, and hair tucked behind her ears. If his heart had been anything but blackened coal, he may have felt something at the sight of a beautiful rosy cheeked, practically naked woman before him. But, she was wasted on him as most things were for a man as unfeeling as he. Beauty and kindness found no praise from Billy Russo, not now, not ever._

_He looked up, a wide grin sent her way in acknowledgement before he focused back on his screen. “Work refuses to be ignored, I’m afraid.” More recruits, more interviews. More of the same. If not for the regular updates from Rawlins, Billy would’ve been bored to death. A dangerous reason to be involved with such a man, but he had never played things safe. Not when his own personal interests were involved. Money, marginally interesting work and the power to live the life he wanted was fulfillment that he needed._

_“I know the feeling.” She hummed, snatching up a shirt and pulling it over her head. “Did you want food? Or will you be grabbing something on the way in, again?” It wasn’t the first time she’d offered breakfast – out of presumed obligatory hospitality or a desire to move this to something **more** Billy couldn’t tell. All he knew was that it was a step too far for his liking. _

_Billy set his phone screen down on his chest and his grin fell into a feigned bashful smile. She was a smart woman and she’d picked up on his resistance, good. He was just as good at playing stupid or at least embarrassed. “The latter, sorry. Raincheck?” He’d grab a coffee, black and sugary how he still liked it, and a pastry if they had anything good._

_Her next question was posed innocently as she moved to grab her own phone, smiling at him. “Should I be offended that you never take me up on that offer?”_

**_If you were would I care?_ ** _It’s a thought that popped into his head without warning and he felt almost guilty for it. Billy could feel his attention wandering back to his phone, but he offered her a small smile. “Not even a little, Dinah.”_

  _It was the same smile he sent her down stairs as he pointed his gun directly at her weeks later, talking of war and trying to kill his brother in arms. The smile that he wore as he shot her down, his attention zeroed in on Frank and Frank alone. The smile he’d wear when they met again, on opposite sides **again**. _


	4. What It Feels Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another long wait. Sorry, pals. Hope it was worth it! We're coming to the end of LND. While I'm sad that it's so much shorter than I initially planned, I'm excited for you all to read what I have planned next. But, before then? Get ready for some emotional torment.

_Billy Russo realised he loved his best friend on a rainy Thursday. It seemed all his life outside Afghanistan and war amounted to was just that – rain and Frank Castle. His surprise at the realisation wasn’t in the receiving party, but the act itself. Love. He didn’t do that, not before. He enjoyed things, food and sex, cars and clothes. He liked the platonic company of a select few, Curtis and others who’d drifted in and out his life. But, he had never, swore he **would** never, love. But, like the cold showers that fell outside the tents that night, it came all at once and he loathed both equally. _

_He’d disappeared an hour earlier with another beaten up paperback, intent on seeking some time for himself. He’d found a quiet corner underneath some shelter to read, it all eerily reminding him of times as a child. Foster home after foster home, hidden away from his ‘siblings’ so he could get a moment of peace, he felt more like any other normal kid petulantly exiling himself. There was something reassuring in feeling normal, even if his self-enforced exile did more harm than good. And, though the foster families knew better, they treated him just like a petulant child. Trauma and distrust were reduced to unsubstantiated tantrums and a bad attitude._

_When things became too noisy, even now, he disappeared, and it became a habit – even well into his twenties and thirties. Another book finished and the rain worsening, he’d reluctantly ventured back and was immediately greeted with a wall of noise that rivalled earlier. He winced, brows drawing low and his nose crinkling as he stepped over discarded boots._

_“Decided to grace us with your presence, Willy boy?” Connors drawled from his place beside a chessboard, a dozen moves in and already losing to Matthews. The others were littered around the tent, some already crashing on their cots for the night. The world around them had fallen quiet and they relaxed in turn, or at least as much as they could given the circumstances._

_Billy offered him his middle finger, his lips wrapping around a protein bar as he sat on the edge of his cot. “Wouldn’t have to disappear if any of you knew how to shut it.”_

_“I’d shut it if Connors knew how to play.” Matthews laughed, seizing another white piece for himself._

_“Nah, you wouldn’t even then.” Frank piped up from his own cot, looking up from a pile of letters._

_“Yeah, you’re both so full of shit I’d think you were made of porcelain.” Billy snipped, brows raising as he finished the bar and crumpled the wrapper in his fist. Much of their dynamic as a group could be reduced to banter thrown across tents, Billy participating more than ever when he could mouth off. He’d never been one to pass up the opportunity for a smart assed comment, especially when it was directed to a ‘brother’._

_Frank eyed him and grinned in kind, something so innocuous that most wouldn’t have thought twice about. But, the humour and warmth with which Frank regarded him had always roused something in his gut. Few saw Billy as more than what he presented himself, but Frank did. He made Billy feel at ease and more like himself than with anyone else.  Neither thing came naturally to him, even when he was at his most relaxed at least part of it was forced. A smile hiding tension, jokes concealing anger and often an accompanying clenched jaw or fist._

_Except with Frank._

_He wasn’t the skinny runt of his childhood, subjected to mistreatment at the hands of those who were meant to love him. Nor was he whatever front he’d tried to put on when he’d first donned his uniform. He was someone worth knowing, at least according to Frank whose opinion ranked high in Billy’s estimation. It made him feel a rush of pride, along with something else that he hadn’t been able to pinpoint previously._

_It suddenly clicked when he was staring at his friend, gaze dipping low as he swallowed dryly. The annoyance he felt when Frank’s attention diverted to letters from home, the thumping of his heart in his chest when Frank let out a laugh because of him. The disappointment he’d quelled after discovering that Frank had a family back home like the others, a wife and children he loved. All of it made sense in that moment and he felt his stomach drop. Billy now knew what **it** felt like and he wanted it to stop. _

_Later, when the tent had emptied due to dinner, Billy heard Frank shift in his cot. Neither had felt much like dinner and he’d hung back once Frank mentioned staying in. He was always excitable after getting mail, the excitement of news and photos from home too much for the man who so usually had little room for sentiment. The tell-tale sound of paper crinkling made Billy open one eye as he sought out his friend, the pair of them separated by the floor, their boots and an old acoustic guitar that Frank had taken a liking to._

_“You okay?” Billy asked, propping himself up on his elbows as Frank looked at him._

_“I’ve been thinkin’-”_

_“That’s always dangerous.” Billy interrupted, not liking the seriousness in Frank’s tone._

_Frank didn’t scold him, he merely sighed. “We, Maria and me, have been talkin’ about having another kid.”_

_“Oh?” He felt his body tense and hoped that it wasn’t obvious._

_“Lis is growing up so fast and Frankie’s not far behind. It’s now or never, y’know?”_

_Billy blinked slowly, “Mm. So, what does it mean?”_

_There was a moment where it seemed as if Frank hadn’t heard him, silence hanging between them before he heard a sigh._

_“It means I’m leaving, Bill. Or at least, I’m gonna try.”_

_Selfishly, Billy’s first thoughts weren’t of offering his congratulations as the words sunk in. His stomach dropped, and he closed his eyes, the weight of abandonment striking hard. He’d felt it time and time again, and the need to say something, **anything, was** overbearing. He wanted to say, ‘don’t go’, he wanted to get on his knees and plead. Both options were pathetic, and disgust settled in his stomach. He waited for the temptation to pass, hands clenching and unclenching before,_

_“Frank.” Billy said, unsure if he wanted Frank to hear him, even less sure if he wanted Frank to address him in turn._

_“Bill?” And the lump in Billy’s throat only worsened, “What’s up?”_

_Don’t leave me._

_“Nothin’, brother. Just… happy for you.”_

* * *

 

Scars had littered his body for the better part of three decades, his face only the most recent and gruesome of casualties. Silver-white catching the light each time he was bare, like now as he scrubbed pale skin raw. A confrontation with Frank, short lived and ending with the pair escaping in opposite directions, had left him spattered with his men’s blood and with more than a few close calls. His left ear still rung, and his shoulders ached in a way they hadn’t since Afghanistan.

It used to make bile crawl up his throat, the sight of his bare body, his desire to be free of his past near overpowering. No number of expensive suits or body scrubs had rid him of those reminders, the scarring across his shoulder and stomach the worst of it for the longest time. Memories, none of them good, seizing his body the instant he saw his reflection. It had quelled the more he embraced this new version of himself, the more of Billy Russo he left in the ashes of ANVIL. He’d reinvented himself before, he could do it again without so much as breaking a sweat.

Only this time, he wasn’t reinventing himself away from the prying eyes of those who might try to stop him. His name and face were becoming equally notorious as he made himself known. Blood was still caked beneath his nails from days earlier, his hands rough and dirty after months of neglect – no expensive creams nor lotions to be found in the motel’s bathroom. Callouses had long ago made their home on his trigger finger and his knuckles were permanently bruised, but he relished in the feeling.

Now, with heavy, tired limbs and an ache in his neck, he felt alive. He’d only felt this way once before, side by side with Frank as they wreaked havoc. It was more than he ever had in the suits and cars that ANVIL had given him, certainly was more than he ever had playing the part of a pawn for Rawlins.

When William Rawlins had first sought him out after his return to the States, blind in one eye and asking for help, Billy nearly laughed in his face. A painfully stereotypical part of him wanted to grind out that he’d left for a reason, that he no longer bore the shades of green and smell of blood **for a reason**.

_“You owe me.” Had been Rawlins simple reply as he pushed past Billy without an invite._

_“Do I now?” Billy had spat, “And for what exactly?”_

His initial resistance had done him no good, Rawlins had known exactly how to pique his interest and ANVIL had been born. It felt like more than a few years ago, felt like more than a lifetime ago. And in part, it was a different life. One where he hadn’t yet faced the consequences of his actions but was instead revelling in the payoff of them. Comfortable wearing falsities in every sense of the word, he’d never thought to re-examine why he had reservations earlier on. He was a gutter-rat wearing suits, playing CEO and living large, and he did it well.

Now, staring at his ruined face and rough hands, he knew that he was finally living up to the expectations of his ex-foster families and Rawlins’ apt assessment. Billy had always been on edge, one bad move away from ripping someone’s throat out with his teeth – becoming a lieutenant had channelled it into something productive, ANVIL had allowed him to justify it. He’d been a feral cat domesticated, but only just. But it felt freeing to finally embrace his monstrous self, not unlike resurfacing after a long time underwater.

* * *

 

_The first time Billy met Maria Castle, he couldn’t bring himself to hate her despite his strong inclinations to do so. In the leadup, he’d been convinced he had met **her** kind before. Superficially doting, baking and affectionately calling him William all while turning a blind eye to the suffering he endured at their husbands’ hands. Labelled as a troubled child early on, ‘punishments’ were frequent and the more houses he passed through, the more he grew to distrust those who desperately sought to endear themselves to him.  _

_But Maria was different. Her warmth wasn’t for show and the way Frank lit up around her said it all. It hit him one night when they were home from tour – Frank and his ‘missus’ having graciously offered for him to stay for dinner. Billy, who had a hotel room with a stiff bed and a phone full of numbers he’d never call to his name, wasn’t about to reject the offer._

_He watched Frank turn a steak on the grill with a sniff, his shoulders relaxed in a way that only occurred when they were home from tour.  How quickly he forgot that home Frank was different to tour Frank. One of the reasons as to why he found himself wishing they were back in the tents, sleeping on shitty cots beside one another. They were a team back there, on equal ground and in sync._

_“Awful quiet back there, Bill.” He said, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t go dyin’ on me.”_

_“Only thing I’d be dying from would be starvation.” Billy scoffed, pushing away from the lawn chair he’d fallen into earlier, resting his sunglasses atop his hair. “Never would’ve picked you for a perfectionist.”_

_Now it was Frank’s turn to huff and he levelled an unimpressed look at Billy. “My grill my rules. Besides, you’ll be the first to complain if your meat isn’t just so. You’re pickier than the kids, I swear.”_

_Billy cast a look to Lisa and Frank Jr as they played just inside, his apathy having made way for fondness some time ago. Despite himself, despite a myriad of reasons as to why he shouldn’t, he’d come to care for all the Castles. He sighed, “Yeah, you’re right. I’d bitch and bitch and –”_

_“Mouth, Billy.”_

_“Sorry.” He murmured and emptied his beer in one gulp, “Want another?”_

_“Yeah, why not.”_

_Their kitchen always smelt so homely, almost annoyingly so. Maria knew how to cook, and it showed – especially when she stood in front of the kitchen counter as she did right now. She wielded a sharp knife, preparing the fixings needed for decent sides. Billy knew fuck all about cooking, but sent a smile in Maria’s direction nonetheless._

_“Anythin’ I can do to help?” He asked, pausing by her elbow on his way to the fridge._

_“No, no,” She waved him away with a bright smile of her own, “I’m fine. Meat coming along?”_

_“Yeah, Frank’s playing the part of housewife nicely.”_

_That earnt him a poke in the ribs before Maria laughed, “Oh, shush, you. You’ll be the one getting teased when you finally settle down.”_

_Not if. When. It made Billy want to roll his eyes, if not do something more violent._

_“Don’t give me that look, William.” She scolded, patting his cheek gently and missing the way his shoulders stiffened in response. “You’re not unlovable, you know?”_

_Billy ran his tongue along his bottom lip and looked out the sliding doors, back out to the patio and to Frank. It was like Frank knew, his gaze darting up from the grill and back to them – Billy and Maria, the latter waving enthusiastically at her husband. Frank grinned broadly, waving his tongs._

_“Yeah, I know.” Billy sighed._

* * *

 

It was two weeks later that his phone buzzed, a burner with no numbers programmed into it – a far cry from his past when he’d had more numbers than time to call them.  He snatched it up, thumb dragging across the screen. “What?” He bit out, smoothing a palm down his face and meeting his own eyes in the mirror.

“Boss,” came the drawled reply, “We’ve found Castle.”

When Billy heard where Frank had been spotted, he asked again just to be sure. He was rarely rendered dumbfounded. People were predictable, easy to read and easier to understand. Frank had always been an exception in most cases though, now being one of them. The salt air hit Billy’s nose as he stepped out of the car, gun in hand and knife strapped to his thigh. He’d learnt from last time and had more than a few tricks up his sleeve, though if the past year had taught him anything it was that Frank had learned too.

Gravel crunched beneath his feet and he came to a stop, eyes squinting against the sun as he looked around. There was nothing bar the small setting where he and Frank had sat over a year earlier, where he’d given a false promise of escape to Frank. It seemed fitting, after the carousel, that this be where they end it. Billy had never done well with finality, stubbornness keeping him alive more than anything else.

But, this, _now_. It seemed right.

“You gonna kill me, Frank?” He called out, eyes unnervingly dark as they scanned their surroundings. "Seems awfully poetic to waste on a chat now, doesn't it?" 

He was searching for something, _anything,_ that would give Frank’s position away. A dark shadow moved out of the corner of his eye and he spun, gun raised. Heart racing as he became intensely aware of the other’s presence. He’d always been attuned to his friend, brother, whatever they were now. Enemies? It seemed more than that, though he figured they had always been more than could be pigeon holed by themselves or others. The last year had only made that worse. And for that he was indebted to Frank, for that he was going to **kill** Frank.


	5. To Do or Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could hear carousel music swelling from somewhere, the carousel music, and flashing lights passed over the faces of his friends.  
> His family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for joining me on this messy ass journey. This fic was born out of my love for Billy, terrible actions and all, and it ends on that note too. I appreciate everyone who has read, commented, given kudos... Even CLICKING on this fic means more than I could ever say. I hope you enjoy the finale! 
> 
> 2019 will bring Season 2 & a new fic 'Strawberries & Cigarettes'. Follow me over at russowrites on tumblr for sneak peeks for it!

Billy didn’t remember much as he lay in the stiff hospital bed, wrists tightly bound and face heavily bandaged. Doctors said he’d suffered extensive trauma at Frank’s hands in the muffled conversations Billy barely caught as he attempted to feign sleep, chest rising and falling as calmly as possible despite his internal panic. Though they hadn’t mentioned him by name, Billy could faintly recall glass and the reflection of _his_ face. Frank pushing his face up against a fractured mirror until he couldn’t breathe through all the screaming and blood, repeating over and over in Billy’s head until he couldn’t breathe.

But, somehow, that wasn’t nearly as bad as when he slept.

Billy didn’t dream anymore – not of pretty lovers on his arm, nor a childhood devoid of abuse and sorrow. For the few hours of sleep he managed, nightmares plagued him. It happened to be the case before he awoke each night _after_ – after Frank had pushed his face against glass and made Billy wish he’d never been born, though not for the first time.

_“Uncle Billy!” Lisa shouted, barrelling towards him and flinging her arms around his waist. Her hair had grown, pulled back over her ears in a ponytail that made her look all her 10 years. The sight made his stomach drop but he couldn’t pinpoint why. It didn’t stop him from ducking his head, grinning as he kissed the top of her head with a SMACK! He’d always been particularly good at ignoring discomfort that bubbled in his stomach or itched at his skin. Years and years of practice had taught him that discomfort helped nobody, and it certainly hadn’t helped him in the past._

_“Hey, kiddo.” Billy pulled back, looking over his sunglasses analytically. “You’ve grown again, huh?”_

_“Sure have! Frankie’s annoyed because I’m still taller.” She beamed, before grasping his hand tightly between both of hers and tugging him back, a picnic table appearing out of thin air as Billy let her lead him. “Were you always tall?”_

_“Nah, I was a pipsqueak for ages. Smaller than your brother even.” Billy shook his head, gaze focused on the table as he tried to discern where they were. He could smell salt air and the sun was beating down, the familiarity of it all bothering him because he couldn’t pinpoint it._

_His memory had always been **so** good, to his advantage, years of painful memories shelved for later use. What had changed? He’d wielded past trauma, undermining those who sought to undermine **him**. _

_Frank had robbed him of so much – his looks, his future and it seemed, his memory too._

_Lisa’s voice drifted in one ear and out the other as she replied, hands still holding his with an iron grip. She’d always been the more vocal of the Castle kids, chatty no matter the circumstances, still young enough to justify not reading the room. Billy’s jaw was set, his shoulders visibly squared and yet she continued. As they got closer Billy took in the sight before him, a sickening wash of déjà vu making his blood run cold._

_“BILLY!” Came Frank Jr’s voice, his legs tucked beneath him as he sat on a bench opposite his parents. He was just as Billy remembered, a mess of dark hair and wide eyes, picking at food like a baby bird. He’d been so small. Something caught in Billy’s chest, the urge to use past tense robbing him of breath and he hadn’t a clue as to why._

_“My boy!” He bellowed, clapping Frankie gently on the back and swinging a leg over to straddle the bench. He snatched up a handful of fries, eliciting a disgruntled noise from the child at his elbow._

_“Don’t hog them!” Frankie huffed, aiming a firm kick to Billy’s shin. “Last time you ate them all.”_

_“Uncle Billy’s never been good at sharing.” Frank Sr joked around mouthfuls of his own food, earning him a middle finger. “Hey, not in front of the kids!”_

_“Not my fault their father is a goon.” Billy shrugged before grabbing at the fries again._

_They’d done this so many times Billy couldn’t distinguish one excursion from the other. More food, laughter and love than he’d ever experienced before, the latter certainly more than he’d ever had directed at him in the past. The sun warming the five of them as the kids bantered and Maria fussed over him. In those moments he felt as if a small part of him might be changing, the void in his chest where some semblance of humanity should’ve been was filled for hours at a time. He’d push Lisa on the swing and skip rocks with Frank Jr, Maria would hassle him over his hair and Frank would laugh so hard his shoulders shook. He’d feel more human and less like the hollow shell he’d grown accustomed to being._

_But it all was only temporary, of course. Time and time again he’d return to his place, a hotel room or a rental, and the warmth would slip. His easy grin replaced by a frown, the looseness of his limbs stiffening by the minute. He wasn’t Uncle Billy there, he was barely anything. He’d sit on the edge of a bed, sometimes empty often not, and feel his chest empty. At the time, everything seemed disposable. At the time, everything was worth giving up in the name of protecting what he had._

_Now, it didn’t seem like he’d had much at all outside of the Castles’. But it was too late for regret._

_Billy blinked, and he was no longer at the bench, instead he was around a dinner table. It wasn’t another barbeque diligently assembled by the Castles, but a family dinner that they’d had time and time again. Maria would make a roast and Billy would bring wine and spend the night hyping the kids up. He’d leave late, paying for a cab despite Frank and Maria’s protests and turn away from the window as they waved him down the road._

_He could hear carousel music swelling from somewhere, **the** carousel music, and flashing lights passed over the faces of his friends._

_His family._

_“Why’d you let us die?” Frank Jr asked, blood dribbling down his chin as he looked up at Billy._

_His stomach turned, and he looked away only to be met with an equally unnerving sight._

_“Dad said you were family.” Lisa set a dish down before Billy, her hair held back by the sparkly pink headband that he’d gotten her after much pleading a summer earlier. Her face was pale and spattered with blood, eyes open but not quite seeing._

_“What the fu-” Billy started but heard a tut from his left._

_“Mouth, Bill.” Frank Sr leaned forwards, forearms resting on the table as blood dripped down his temple. His chest bore that all too familiar symbol, the one that Billy would fight to forget._

_Maria set her hand on Billy’s arm, smiling wide as her face paled too. “It’s okay, Billy. We know you didn’t mean to.”_

The nightmare still clung to him, evidenced in the thin layer of a cold sweat on his back as he came to again – his temples aching painfully as machines beeped by his side. His cheek pressed against a pillow, startling him as the unmistakable sound of fabric meeting fabric hit his ears. That’s when he became aware of the bandages for the third time that day, a week of consciousness not yet acclimatising him to his new state. They were layered, so many, one atop another. He felt claustrophobic, robbed of breath beneath itchy gauze.

Billy registered how his face felt beneath them, tight and itchy, the smell of dried blood mixing sickeningly with the sterility of his hospital room. How he wished to scrub his face clean until the smell and discomfort were gone. Anything to relieve the irritation.

Fragments of conversation from outside would have caught his interest but his attention wandered. Sluggishly he blinked and fluorescent lights greeted him like ice picks to his sockets. He groaned quietly, his throat punishing him for the act before pain shot through his temples. Clutching at the thin white sheets beneath him only rewarded him with firm tugging at his wrists. He looked down, a discontented noise falling from dry lips as he glared at the restraints. Metal dug into his wrists, rubbing against welts that had already formed on his skin.

He wanted to get out. He **needed** to get out.

But he swore internally to be patient, to wait until the bandages were off and murmurings of his future began. Billy, though erratic at the best of times, knew how to play calm when the occasion called for it. He hadn’t spoken since waking up the first time a week earlier, his mouth a grim line even as his face was examined, prodded by strangers as they looked him over. He was stiff as a board as fingers moved across him, gaze locked firmly ahead. Stubbornness spurred him on, as it always had. Though Billy made sure his face remained apathetic at the time, he made a mental note of who would be the first to die when he was free of his restraints.  

                                 

* * *

                          

The shadow took shape and Billy raised his gun, finger against the trigger. His disgust was evident as he realised it wasn’t Frank, instead some nameless FBI agent, and he shot without hesitation. The figure hit the ground lifelessly and Billy moved on.

            “Had to bring the feds in, Frankie?” Billy teased, voice gravelly as it echoed across the near empty docks, “Feels a little impersonal, don’t ya think?”

More movement from his side and he spun, knife firmly in his grasp as he drew it across the man’s throat. Gurgling was ignored in favour of stalking closer to a warehouse, its rusted door left open a crack, Billy’s heart beating faster.

            “Frank!” Billy said, jerking the door wide open and keeping his gun up high, “We goin’ to do this the right way?”

            It took a moment, silence permeating the air for long enough that Billy considered that he mightn’t be in the right place. Before, finally.

            “Bill.” Frank said, face half cast in shadow as he pointed his gun squarely at Billy’s chest, “We sure are.”

Billy stumbled back and met the wall with a thud, legs sliding out from under him as he sat on the ground hard. Pain shot up his rear, radiating through his spine and making him emit a gasp. Frank loomed over him, tossing his gun aside in favour of grabbing at the front of Billy’s shirt before shoving him into the wall with force, his head bouncing off with an audible crack.

                        “F-fuck.” Billy groaned, slamming his palm against Frank’s nose hard to push him away.

            They’d been at this for too long, opting to use their fists all for the sake of some feigned perception of honour. It did neither of them much good, progressively growing wearier as they went. Billy’s knuckles were bloody, his sides sore, and he was certain his face had seen better days. Frank was no better, his breathing punctuated by painful wheezing and one eye swelling shut already.

            Neither of them had ever been quick to concede though, especially not in a fight. Part of it roused fondness in Billy, remembering better times when they’d been allied at least in theory. But the part that won out was one that wanted it to be over. He wanted to win, or he wanted Frank to win – he wanted to leave here, face beaten to hell and ego wounded further. Or, he wanted Frank to finish it and let it be over.

 For good.

Staring up at Frank, he weighed his options, every inch of his body radiating pain to varying degrees. But that wasn’t the worst of it, because of course it wasn’t. His brain struggled to piece together just how he’d gotten there – a car seemed right, but had he driven it? Even more pressing was his inability to remember the names he and Frank had exchanged, something about birds faintly rang a bell, but details slipped through the cracks. What colour were Frank’s eyes? A look upwards rewarded him with the answer, though the minute he looked away he forgot again.

 _Why doesn’t she want me?_ _Billy looked up at the woman handling his case, brows furrowing._

His right hand throbbed as he lifted it, pointing at the insignia on Frank’s chest. With that gesture, he made up his mind.

_The only crime in war is to lose. He could practically see the way Dinah’s brown eyes burnt into his own as he was pulled away from the stairwell._

                        “This… All of it.” Billy began, blood dribbling down his chin, “Was it worth it?”

_He remembers teeth and tongue working against his own, soft hands cupping his face as he pushed up against her. The feelings that went along with it were faded, her face crackled when he tried to focus. Dinah._

_Madani._

His head throbbed, and he exhaled shakily, his head moving from side to side.

_He saw Frank and all he could think was ‘I love you’, he saw Frank and all he could think was ‘I hate you’._

Frank’s gaze cooled considerably as he clenched his jaw, “Yes.”

“Killin’ me… Rawlins… Schoonover…” Billy’s head lolled back against the wall as he let his eyes wander, “Do y’think they’d be proud?”

He knew he was hitting a nerve when Frank’s hands, still gripping his shirt, tightened.

_Castle needs to die. Rawlins had said so bluntly, as if he weren’t sentencing a man to die. But Billy shouldn’t have been surprised._

_But, oh how he was._

Billy choked out a laugh, chest wheezing as he slumped forward. “Still an open book.” His fingers wrapped around cool metal and he looked at Frank, “You’re too easy…”

As if planned by the pair, they simultaneously levelled their guns at one another. Frank’s hands having left Billy’s shirt his body sagged, head lolling against his shoulder.

“Shit, Frankie.” Billy said, tongue dragging across his bottom lip. “Two sides of the same coin, yet again.”

Frank narrowed his eyes and grunted. “We ain’t, Bill.”

And yet it was Billy who apparently had the shit memory. Frank had forgotten how closely they were aligned right up to when the shots were fired, killing the Castle family and cementing Frank’s future.

“No? You think we aren’t just… two assholes who were one choice away from being the other?”

“One choice?”

“Don’t get all righteous on me.” Billy scoffed, then squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of pain hit him. It mostly passed, though remnants of it lingered. “You’re a liar if you say you think we’re so different.”

“Enough!”

It was when he opened his eyes that Billy caught movement through the frosted glass to his right, his jaw clenching as he stared back up at Frank. The two men outside hadn’t been it, of course they hadn’t. The fistfight had been no more than a diversion while agents circled, drew closer and finally, caught Billy. “Gonna hand me in, Frankie?”

“Bill…”

“No!” Billy spat, “This isn’t how it ends.”

“Ends?”

“We take and take from each other. It’s what we do. It’s what we’ll always do until one or both of us is dead.” Billy hissed, spittle and blood equal parts hitting his chin. “Don’t you get that? I _won’t_ give up. Ever. I’ll get out again and again. I will **kill you**. Or…”

Frank’s eyes remained unwaveringly on his, brows drawn low as he crouched before him. “Or?”

It’s something Billy had known for some time, perhaps even longer than he’d been conscious of.

“It’s gotta be you.” He answered finally, “You have to do what you couldn’t do last time, or you’ll regret it.”

The weight of his implied request hung in the air, bringing with it a new kind of tension. Billy half expected Frank to ignore him and let the authorities drag him away – a hospital bed the least of his problems this time.

Frank swallowed, jaw ticking as he stood up straight and moved his gun up. “You’re right…”

**_BANG._ **

 

 THE END. 


End file.
